


Fantastic Gentleman

by marleymars



Series: Attachment Theory [7]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: IT'S FLUFF AND I'M NOT SORRY, IT'S JUST FLUFF OKAY, M/M, i wanted to write fluff don't judge me, no porn this time just feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 11:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marleymars/pseuds/marleymars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irwin gets sick and Armin takes care of him. That's literally all that happens. And there's singing. </p><p>ffbbbttthhh</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantastic Gentleman

Irwin hadn’t known that Armin could sing. He might not have found out that day either if Armin had been aware he was coming home early at Levi’s behest. “I don’t want your fucking germs, so go the fuck home.” The surly little man insisted that Irwin was sick, which was completely preposterous—Irwin Smith didn’t get “sick. He didn’t have time for any such nonsense. However, it was sometimes better to do as Levi insisted than to argue with him. And to be honest he was having a bit of trouble focusing on any one thing in particular for very long. Perhaps he’d just humor him, for today at least.

Just after noon he entered the penthouse and saw Armin’s coat hanging on the rack by the door, so he knew the boy was there. Somehow that knowledge gave him a small sense of comfort, though he continued to ignore the telling aches in his joints and the way his body felt as though he’d taken up residence in a furnace.

A sound in the kitchen drew his attention—of course that was where Armin would be. For such a tiny little thing, he certainly had a healthy appetite. Irwin followed the noise after divesting himself of his coat, and as he drew closer he realized that what he was hearing was singing. No music accompanied the words, but the voice was clear and lilting, perfect in pitch and tone. When he rounded the doorway, he saw Armin standing with his back to the door with all the ingredients for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich spread out on the counter before him.

“Armin,” he said softly, but the blond didn’t seem to hear him, and upon closer examination he could see why. There were wires reaching up underneath his hair, and the faint whisper of music could be heard as he fell momentarily silent. He was listening to his headphones as he sliced up an apple to accompany his sandwich, and completely oblivious to Irwin’s presence. Romulus wasn’t helping matters either; he barely spared his master a glance, too busy was he watching Armin’s food preparation to greet him.

“ _I thought of angels, choking on their halos, get them drunk on rose water_ ,” Armin sang, voice dropping slightly as he smeared peanut butter on an apple slice and reached down without looking. Romulus snatched the treat out of his fingers, and likely swallowed it whole. The blond moved on to the bread next, after feeding himself another wedge of apple and humming around the mouthful.

“ _If heaven’s grief brings hell’s rain, then I’d trade all my tomorrow’s for just one yesterday. I know I’m bad news, I saved it all for you—I wanna teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way, still I’d trade all my tomorrow’s for just one yesterday_.” Whatever he was listening to was clearly something he was really into, if the way his entire body seemed to bob along to the lyrics was any indication. He was twirling a butter knife in his fingers, and he brought it up to lick away some excess jelly before tossing it into the sink.

“ _Anything you say can and will be held against you, so only say my name and it will be held against you. Anything you say can and will be held against you, so only say my_ —,” he turned, sandwich in hand and the words seemed to catch in his throat when he saw Irwin leaning in the doorway watching him. An attractive—and excessive, Irwin thought—blush came rushing to his face, and with wide eyes and a working, gaping mouth, he almost looked like he’d been caught doing something horrifically embarrassing.

“How…how long were you standing there?” he squeaked out, voice a little too loud. Irwin pushed away from the wall and approached him. Armin watched with apparent trepidation as the older man reached up and plucked the headphones from his ears.

“You didn’t tell me you could sing,” he said.

“I can’t,” the blond snapped immediately.

“Then what was it you were doing just now?” Armin didn’t seem to have an answer for that. Instead, he clamped his mouth shut and circled around the older man, slipping past him into the dining room. Normally he would eat in the kitchen or on the couch where he could watch television. Clearly he was trying to escape any prying, but Irwin wasn’t interested in being evaded today. “Armin,” he said, following on his heels.

“Irwin, please,” he said, rounding on the older man sooner than he’d thought he would with an earnestly mortified look on his face, “I don’t like to sing in front of people. Can you just let it go?”

“I can understand stage fright, but you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about where I’m concerned. You know that,” Irwin countered. The resultant glare told him that Armin _did_ know that, but didn’t want to agree with it. Nor would he attempt to refute sound logic; therefore, his only option was sullen silence. “I mean it. You have a lovely singing voice.” If anything, that only deepened his blush, and Irwin had to restrain himself from leaning down and tasting that pretty red skin.

“Thank you,” the blond said grudgingly. Then, “Why are you home so early anyway?”

“Levi thinks I’m sick,” Irwin replied.

Armin’s eyes narrowed into an expression of concern, and he reached up, pressing the back of his hand to Irwin’s forehead as though he were his mother. “You _are_ sick, you dummy. Jesus, you’re burning up.”

“I’m fine.”

“The hell you are. Go get in bed. _Now_ ,” he said with finality, pointing sternly toward the doorway in a tone that brooked no argument. Irwin held his hands up in surrender—honestly, how was it that he spent so much of his time being ordered around by a pair of men who couldn’t get on half the rides at an amusement park?

Irwin was a restless man by nature, though—indolence simply didn’t suit him, and the thought of getting into bed at one in the afternoon rankled. True, he was feeling weary now, but he had too many things to do. There had been too many “days off” lately, and most of those had simply been excuses to spend time with Armin. Now he was paying for it, stuck at home and unwilling and unable to touch the younger man for fear of passing on his germs. Well, Levi could only bar him from working at his corporate offices. He couldn’t—hopefully—monitor him from home.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Checking my market shares.” Silence greeted his answer, and he looked up from the desk in his home office to see Armin frowning at him from the doorway.

“Irwin,” he said, expression unwavering, “You’re sick.”

“So I’ve been told.”

The blond made a noise of annoyance and marched around the desk until he stood beside Irwin’s chair. “Just so you know, I don’t find empty displays of machismo attractive. Especially when you’re a microbe away from barfing your guts out in the toilet.”

“I’m not working to impress you; I’m working because I have work to do, Armin.” He reached for the mouse, only to have Armin grab his hand and spin the chair around.

“Go. To. Bed,” he commanded, giving Irwin’s shoulders a shake to punctuate each word. “The sooner you get some rest the faster you’ll get this out of your system, and then you can go back to your stupid market shares.” Arguing seemed to be futile at that point—Armin showed no signs of having anywhere else to be, and he knew that resisting would be more trouble than it was worth. Under the watchful eye of his young lover he retired to his bedroom, admittedly feeling more fatigued than he should have.

“What kind of house doesn’t have a vaporizer?” the blond muttered as he exited the bathroom several minutes later, presumably where he’d been searching for such a device.

“I don’t need a vaporizer,” Irwin informed him, feeling the telltale soreness somewhere between his eyes that told him that would soon be a lie.

“Whatever,” Armin said, “I’m gonna run and get some supplies. And if I come back and find you working I’m gonna bite you, and not in the fun way.”

“If you insist,” the older man grumbled. His head was aching too much to argue, but he had far too much pride to ask Armin to bring him an Advil.

“Just stay in bed, okay?” the blond told him, tone gentler now that Irwin seemed willing to comply with his demands. He walked over to the bed, then bent and gave the older man a quick peck on the temple. There was a moment there where he hesitated, hovering above Irwin with a strange look on his face, as if there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t put into words. Before the older man could ask what was wrong he offered a small smile and straightened up. “I’ll be back in an hour. Be good.”

 _Be good_. Was Irwin a child? He waited until he was certain Armin had left, then climbed out of bed and made for the bathroom and the medicine cabinet. His head gave a particularly strong throb, as if protesting the sudden movement. _Alright, maybe Levi was right_ , he thought as he downed a few painkillers. By the time he made it back to bed he was exhausted—too exhausted to do much more than stare disapprovingly at Romulus, who had jumped into the space usually occupied by Armin. “You’re a bad dog,” he muttered, but the mastiff only responded by wagging his tail and scooching closer to him so that they were at eye level. “If I didn’t feel like death warmed over you’d be spending the night sleeping on the balcony.” Of course he didn’t mean that. In fact, it made him nervous to let the dopey, bumbling mutt out there in the first place. He didn’t trust him not to jump over the railing in pursuit of a pigeon and fall to his death.

Lying in bed was just as dull as the ache behind his eyes, but he was too tired at this point for much else. At first he made an attempt to read something, but he must have fallen asleep. The words wouldn’t focus properly before his eyes, and the next thing he knew he was waking up to the crinkling of plastic bags and the feeling of the bed dipping next to him. “Are you awake?” Armin’s voice asked softly.

“I can’t tell,” Irwin muttered, and he heard the blond’s quiet huff of laughter.

“I told you you were sick,” a pause, “Wow, you really look like shit.”

Wryly, Irwin said, “Thank you,” then he opened his eyes and sat up. Oh, that was a bad idea. His back twanged horribly, and Armin must have caught the wince he failed to suppress because he was immediately being pushed back down onto the mattress. “Your hands are freezing,” the older man said as Armin pressed them to his face once more.

“No they aren’t,” he argued, “Damn. You haven’t gotten the shivers yet, have you?” He was moving across the room before Irwin could respond. Speaking of the shivers, he felt one tear through him, then another, uncontrollable in the sudden unbearable coolness of the room. “Fever reducer,” Armin said, suddenly by his side again and rattling another bottle of pills. “Take those. Don’t move. Are you too hot? Too cold? Oh, Christ, I have no idea what I’m doing, so yeah, belated F.Y.I.” He was biting his lip, worrying his hands together pensively as he watched Irwin swallow the proffered pills.

“Is this what you do when you’re sick?” Irwin asked.

“No. First off, I take vitamin C, so I don’t get sick. And if I _do_ get sick, I lay in bed and cry about it until the pile of tissues is up to the ceiling,” the blond explained, drawing a laugh from the older man. Then, “Oh, fuck, I forgot tissues!” he groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead.

“There are tissues in the hall closest,” Irwin told him, and Armin was running for the door before he even finished speaking. A moment later the blond returned, a Costco-sized ten box package of tissues obscuring his vision before he dropped it onto the floor. “A gift from Levi,” the older man muttered before he could ask. To this day he wasn’t quite certain whether it was meant to be a joke or not, but throwing them away would have been wasteful in either case.

“Why is he so weird?” Armin said as he placed a single tissue box on the bed by Irwin’s pillow.

“He’s a germaphobe,” the older man explained.

“Like Howard Hughes?” Armin asked, resuming his seat on the edge of the bed and resting a hand on Irwin’s thigh.

“Not that extreme,” he laughed, “Any sort of mess makes him antsy, though. Sometimes he’ll do the dishes when he comes over if there are any in the sink, and once he’s on a roll it’s hard to make him stop. One day I asked him to meet me here to go over some evaluations, and I came home to find him cleaning the oven.”

“Jeez,” Armin snickered. Something flashed across his face, and he pursed his lips, “I heard from somebody that…well. I know Levi’s not from some Ivy League legacy family.”

“He’s not,” Irwin agreed. Talking to Armin was distracting him from the way his body kept flushing alternately burning hot, then freezing cold, so he didn’t mind ignoring his fatigue to focus on him. “But I think it would be up to him to fill you in.” Armin gave him an imploring pout, but Levi’s secrets were his own to divulge.

“Alright. Well, what about you?”

“What about me?” Irwin asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Like, you told me about how you were a marine. But, like…what were you like when you were a kid?” he asked, tapping his bottom lip with a contemplative finger.

Irwin shrugged. There really wasn’t much to tell—truth be told, he’d had something of a tedious upbringing. “I went to boarding school,” he said, “I didn’t spend much time at home. When I was older I switched to military school. Then, when I graduated I joined the marines, did a few tours of duty. After being discharged I got a business degree, and when my father died I took his place as head of the company.”

“Wow,” Armin voiced dryly, “You should turn that into a one-man Broadway show.”

“I’m a lot more boring than most people would like to believe,” the older man countered with a tired smile.

“Please,” the blond said, rolling his eyes and leaning over so he was half-sprawled across Irwin’s legs, leaning on a hand to prop up his head, “You were a frickin’ marine. I mean, I bet you know like twenty-seven different ways to kill a man with a bottle cap and a rubber band.”

The CEO scoffed, “Hardly.” Armin frowned again, so he added, “It’s twenty-eight.”

“See? You’re funny too, in an ‘I’m not sure whether or not he’s kidding’ kind of way. It’s kind of hot and scary at the same time.” With a smile, the blond reached out for one of his hands, giving the aching fingers a soft, comforting squeeze.

“You’re going to get sick too if you insist on lying all over me like that,” Irwin informed him.

“I told you, I take vitamin C,” Armin said with a dismissive wave, “And I chugged some cold preventative stuff in the kitchen when I got back. It tasted like a dirty foot, but hopefully it’ll do the trick.” Irwin watched him as he went about setting up the vaporizer, dropping a few cough drops into the water before setting the rest of the bag, and a bottle of Nyquil on the nightstand.

Once he was done fussing over a few final details, he stood by the side of the bed, lips pursed as he wiggled his fingers uncertainly against his legs. “Well, I’m out of ideas,” he said finally. “Unless you’re hungry? I could make you some soup. Well, from a can. Or toast. Do you want toast?”

“I’m not hungry,” Irwin told him. The thought of food at that moment was actually infinitely unappealing, but he _was_ thirsty. Before he could give any thoughts to wounded pride, he voiced this need and Armin was back in less than a minute with a glass of water.

“I could make tea, too. Tea is good for sick people, right?” he bit his lip again, “I really should have Googled this before I started acting like your live-in nurse.”

“It’s fine, Armin,” Irwin assured him. It was becoming harder and harder for him to remain awake at this point. Then, because Armin was staring at him as though he might start coughing up blood at any moment, he added, “Thank you.”

“Oh…don’t worry about it,” the blond said, looking pleased with himself nonetheless. “That’s what you do when you’re in a relationship, right? You take care of each other.” He looked a tad sheepish as he spoke, reaching up to rub the back of his neck and staring down at the bedspread. “Anyway, I’ll let you sleep. You look like you’re about to pass out, anyway.”

“Where are you going?” Irwin asked as the blond made to leave the room.

“I was gonna go watch TV. Why, do you need anything else?”

“Stay,” the older man said. Armin blinked, looking surprised for a second before coming to sit on the side of the bed again. Once he was within arm’s reach, Irwin pulled him in close by his waist until he was nearly resting his head in the younger man’s lap.

“Irwin, you’re gonna feel worse if you—,”

“Sing something for me,” the older man interjected.

“Wha—No!” Armin gasped, and Irwin looked up at his face just long enough to catch the expression of abject horror.

“You said you wanted to take care of me. It’ll make me feel better,” he said rather matter-of-factly.

“That’s…That’s totally manipulative!” Armin sputtered.

“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” was Irwin’s retort.

“You…I…I don’t even know what…What should I sing?” It wasn’t so much that he was relenting, as he was still searching for a way out.

“What were you singing earlier?”

“Fall Out Boy,” Armin muttered.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Because you’re old and uncool,” the blond said, poking at his cheek in annoyance. “What’s your favorite band, then?”

“I don’t have one.” Armin scoffed, as if he didn’t believe that anyone could even say such a thing. “I don’t really listen to music very much. Not music with words, anyway.”

“Well, I can’t play any instruments, so I guess you’re S.O.L.” Still, he didn’t move. His fingers were working through Irwin’s hair, feeling frigid against his heated scalp, but soothing nevertheless. “You must be feeling pretty miserable,” he murmured after a long, silent moment. Irwin just closed his eyes. It was too much trouble at this point to keep them open.

For a few minutes he was certain that Armin wasn’t going to actually sing anything. The kid could be stubborn when he wanted to be, but he must have been feeling charitable in light of Irwin’s sudden illness.

 _“Watcha drinkin'? Rum or whiskey? Now won'tcha have a double with me?”_ He started off slow and soft, almost inaudibly so. If there had been noise of any other kind Irwin wouldn’t have been able to hear him over the hiss of the vaporizer.

“ _I'll never forget you. They said we'd never make it, my sweet joy, always remember me. We were mischievous. And you were always wearing black. I was so serious. You know my boyfriend's mother nearly had a heart attack.”_ There was a quality to the lyrics that felt almost classical, like a swingy a capella type of music.

 _“I'm sorry I'm a little late, you know the stripes on a tiger are hard to change. I know this world feels like an empty stage. I wouldn't change a thing, so glad you're back again.”_ He swung back into the chorus, his voice clearer now, only slightly louder but still perfect.

 _Watcha thinkin'? Did you miss me? I borrowed your silver boots. Now if you'd just let me give them back to you, I'll never forget you. They said we'd never make it. My sweet joy. Always remember me. Don't you know that you're my joy? Always remember me. Don't you know that you're my joy?  
Always remember me…” _ He trailed off, letting the last note hang in the air as he gently massaged the tips of his fingers against Irwin’s scalp.

“I forgot like half the words,” he murmured, “it’s hard to sing along to something I can’t hear.” Silence. “Did you fall asleep?”

“I’m trying to.”

“Did my majestic singing do anything for you?” he said with more than a touch of sarcasm.

“Yes,” Irwin said truthfully. Perhaps not in the way he’d implied it might, but it had certainly helped to strengthen the opinion that Armin was one of the most brilliant people he’d ever met.

“Liar,” Armin sighed. If he’d felt less like a corpse, Irwin might have been able to form a cohesive counterargument. As it was, he could barely open his eyes to shoot Armin an exasperated look. “Don’t tell anyone I can sing,” was all the blond said to that.

“I’m telling everyone,” Irwin told him. Armin responded by squeezing his nose shut, then apologizing for it immediately. “Thank you,” he said again after pulling his head away from the blond’s lap—it was getting too hot in his head for that sort of close physical contact.

Armin shrugged again, fighting off a little smile, and said not at all humbly, “I’m a good boyfriend. You can thank me for it when you’re better.” He left then—the room, not the penthouse. He promised to stay as long as the older man needed him. If Irwin had had the strength, he would have told Armin that meant that he could never leave.

**Author's Note:**

> The first song is by Fall Out Boy. The second song is Never Forget You by the Noisettes. It is pretty, that's why. I've listened to it maybe thirty-seven times in the last hour. 
> 
> Side note; Fantastic Gentleman is the title of a song. It has nothing to do with this fic. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧ This took me like a month to write, I need a nap.


End file.
